


Conduit of Heaven

by EHyde



Category: Akatsuki no Yona | Yona of the Dawn
Genre: F/M, later chapters will include canonical character deaths, may contain references to other cracktheories, priest!Yong-hi au, though is it an au if we don't know a thing about her?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:58:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7108018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EHyde/pseuds/EHyde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All her life, Yong-hi had heard the voices of the gods—but that didn’t mean she had to like the things they said. Choosing instead to ally herself with Lord Yu-hon, she hoped for a country that could determine its own fate—and sought that freedom for herself, as well. But to be chosen by the gods is not an easy destiny to deny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ProPinkist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProPinkist/gifts), [sorasan0000](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorasan0000/gifts).



“Marry me.”

Yong-hi froze. Not that she’d had any significant ability to move before. “I don’t need your pity, Your Highness. I knew when I first came to you what fate might have in store for me.” Both the best-case scenario—left completely alone in the world with no means of support, no skills to fall back upon—and the worst. Right now, restrained in a hastily repurposed officer’s room, the worst seemed more likely. A dungeon might be too crude for a woman, but execution would not be.

“This isn’t pity.” The prince looked as flustered as she’d ever seen him, but Yong-hi could hear the truth in his words. More a curse than a blessing, that skill. “You exposed the priesthood’s corruption, their treason. You could have chosen to leave it at that. You’d have been a hero. But you were the only one, aside from my own men, who knew when the raid on the temple would happen. You helped them escape.”

There had been seven young acolytes living in the temple—the youngest only five years old—and not one of them had a thing to do with the higher priesthood’s crimes. “They were only children.” Yong-hi gazed calmly back at him. “You captured the ones you needed to capture.” The eldest among the acolytes was only seventeen, but had promised to look out for the others, though he himself had been studying at the temple for barely a month and by all rights shouldn’t have been caught up in this at all. Yong-hi still wondered if she should have gone with them, too—fleeing as they did, she knew that only a life of hardship could await them. But to the children … she might have helped them escape, but she was still the one who’d brought the temple down. They would hardly want her help. _They have a chance, now. It’s enough._

“Children,” Prince Yu-hon repeated. “The acolytes were a part of the temple.” _Only two of them could even hear the voices of the heavens,_ Yong-hi thought, but she didn’t tell the prince that. He didn’t believe— “And I had not yet determined how I would keep them out of this,” Yu-hon continued. _What?_ “You were ahead of me, as you have been from the start. You knew what you were giving up, and what you would receive in return. Yong-hi,” he said—he didn’t call her “priestess” anymore, she noted— “this is not pity. This is admiration.”

“You … you barely even know me.”

“I know,” said Yu-hon, “that I could not marry a woman I don’t admire.”

And Yong-hi admired Yu-hon. As a prince, as a potential king—she had trusted him with Kouka’s future, where she hadn’t trusted the temple priests. Marriage, though … was something she’d never expected from life. And as a man, she didn’t know Yu-hon at all. _What can he gain from this?_ Yong-hi bore no illusions that the prince could seek anything other than a political match, and she, now a traitor to two parties, was hardly that. But his proposal was in earnest, and his admiration real … and this might be the only future available to her. “Your Highness, if you would have me be your wife, if you would have me share your bed … keep guard over me tonight. Keep watch while I sleep— _you,_ not one of your men. You—you don’t know everything about me.”

Yu-hon looked like he wanted to ask questions, but in the end, he just nodded. She hadn’t told him “no,” after all.

* * *

“—Yong-hi! Yong-hi!”

Her restraints had been undone. That was the first thing she noticed. And—Prince Yu-hon was holding her. The dream was still fresh in her mind, the same dream, and she felt that uncontrollable urge to tell him, to tell anyone, that which the gods wished to make known. “Do not—” No, those weren’t her words. Yong-hi clamped her mouth shut, then took a deep, ragged breath. “Told you—you’d be—surprised.”

“Are you ill? You were shaking—you wouldn’t wake.”

“Did I say anything?” Yu-hon looked away, and Yong-hi knew that she had. “Tell me.”

“Talk of darkness, and storms. Nothing that made sense. A nightmare?”

She shook her head, pushing herself back away from him, and upright. “The gods are real, Your Highness. They speak to me.”

“You—all this, and—you never stuck me as a believer.”

“It’s not a matter of belief. No more than I need to believe the sun will rise each day.”

Yu-hon paused, considering. “And yet one may choose to work through the night,” he said, finally. “You defied the temple. You brought me evidence that the head priest was both a fraud and a traitor. Was that in accordance with heaven’s wishes, then?”

It should have been. If the gods were just, it would have been. “The gods desire a kingdom that reveres them,” said Yong-hi. “Priest So-yun was a fraud, but the gods wanted what he wanted.” A kingdom with the temple at the head. That was the way things had been long ago, Yong-hi knew, but why the gods wanted that back _now_ in particular was still unclear to her. Priests didn’t need to _understand_ the whims of the gods, after all—only to convey them.

Yong-hi had never been content with that—she enjoyed studying things, enjoyed learning to understand, and the gods’ refusal to explain had been a source of endless frustration to her since childhood. As a young woman, she was sent to serve at the palace temple, and it was there she’d learned to pay attention to politics, learned that while humans might not always make the right choices, they at least made choices that could be studied and understood—and learned that those choices often made far more sense than anything the gods commanded. _After all, we live in this world._ She had begun to wonder what that world might look like, a world where the gods had no voice at all—and somehow, it had all come to this.

Yu-hon was—smiling? Yes, that was—he’d been disappointed at the thought that she might be acting as the gods commanded. And this, the truth, excited him. “It’s easy to defy the gods when you don’t believe in them,” he said. “Nearly impossible to defy a force of nature. Yong-hi—marry me.”

He believed her. Believed her, and seemed all the more eager. Yong-hi had already chosen to believe in his future, in his vision for Kouka. And— _marriage_ was too much, the decision too sudden, but if he truly felt this way, she would gladly choose to watch that future play out at his side. “If I marry you,” she began, _you’ll see worse than this every day._ That was what she meant to say. “Then neither one of us will be able to halt the storm that will sweep this nation.” Not her words. She took another deep breath. “They won’t forgive me,” she said, by way of explanation. “But right now I’m all they have left. They won’t let me go, either.”

“Is that so?” Yu-hon’s eyes glinted in the candlelight. “I do love a challenge.”

* * *

Following the dissolution of the temple (that was the tactful phrasing, the wording used in polite company), the gods were harder on Yong-hi than they ever had been before. The dreams came every night, the prophecies every day, sometimes so strongly that she lost all awareness of herself and had to beg those around her—wary servants, usually, because Prince Yu-hon was a busy man—to tell her what she’d said.

“Why must they punish you?” Yu-hon asked. “They should come after me; I’ll face them all for you.”

Yong-hi smiled. Her lord husband’s strength in battle, great though it was, could not help him in this arena … and yet the words didn’t feel empty. “I don’t think this is a punishment, not really,” she admitted. “I’m one human, with a short human lifespan. Punishment would be irrelevant.” She pressed on before Yu-hon could reply. “But I’m the only one who could carry their words to the throne. That is why they do this.”

Her marriage to Yu-hon was something of a scandal—that he had married her to spite all the various factions that had put forth suitors of their own was the kindest rumor to reach her ears. And—well, what they had certainly wasn’t a great romance for the ages. Yong-hi occasionally found herself wondering if he regretted his spur-of-the-moment proposal. Wondering if she regretted her hasty answer. She lived in the palace with him, but what good was she doing there? She hardly felt needed, hardly felt wanted …

The scandal, at least, made it easy for her to stay away from court. Away from the ears of any who might think the gods had anything relevant to say. Day by day she worked to make herself stronger—not for the first time; every child who could hear the gods had been through this to some extent—and eventually the scandal would die down. At that time—when she had a little more freedom, a little more strength—well, if there were any decisions to be made, she could make them then.

It didn’t help that Yu-hon was so often away from home. He was a great military leader, a great general—that was one of the reasons _why_ she’d placed her trust in him—but was it wrong, after all, to wish for more time to get to know the man she’d married? “You’re leaving for the front tomorrow, then?” she asked over dinner one night,.

Yu-hon frowned, and nodded. “I can’t work my way around this mess in Sei,” he admitted. “If all I had to do was meet them on the battlefield …” He hesitated, looking like he was unsure if he should keep speaking. “Yong-hi,” he said. “How should I proceed?”

She froze. He was asking—? Wordlessly (wordlessly, because there were _answers,_ and she _would not_ let them have their say, not _now,_ not to him) she stood up. Turned away from the dining table. Left.

He came to her chambers later that night. She had told the servants not to admit him, and though he was a prince, they listened—but they could not turn him away entirely. “Yong-hi!” He called to her through the door. “Tell me what I said—what I did wrong. I know I upset you, but I don’t—” He didn’t know? Really? But he spoke the truth, and that—that was almost worse. “I don’t want to leave things like this. Please. _Tell me._ ”

She moved to the door. Spoke calmly through the thin veneer. “You said it was easy to defy the gods when you didn’t believe in them. I suppose it’s even easier to ask for their help when you do.”

Silence followed. She returned to her bed. Of course he’d succumb to this eventually. Or maybe—maybe this had been his hope from the start. To have her here, always on hand to supply him with easy answers from the heavens. She had thought—but no one could be as strong as he had seemed.

Then—finally, quietly— “Yong-hi. I was asking _you._ ”

She was back at the door, had opened it, before she realized what she was doing. There were tears in her eyes as she looked up at her husband, but she didn’t try to hold them back, because messy and unseemly though they might be, they were still _hers._ He didn’t say anything more as she wrapped her arms around him, but he didn’t need to.

“Come with me to the front,” he said, the next morning. “It will be better for both of us.” And it was.


	2. Chapter 2

“Did you have dreams about your son, when you were pregnant?”

Yong-hi paused as they walked through the palace gardens, unsure how to answer Lady Seihwa’s question. Yong-hi knew her sister-in-law well enough by now to know that Seihwa was asking this not because Yong-hi had once been a priestess, but because Yong-hi was the only other new mother she knew. Despite their apparent differences—Seihwa, nearly a decade younger than Yong-hi, had expected and trained all her life to be a lord’s wife—Yong-hi found she liked Il’s wife. Seihwa was an open and friendly person, even if their backgrounds gave them very little common ground for real conversation—and her pregnancy had changed that, had finally given them something to bond over. The younger woman seemed to have an unending supply of questions, and Yong-hi could hardly blame her. Bearing an heir might be one of the primary duties of a prince’s wife, but the actual process seemed to have been as absent from Seihwa’s education as it was from Yong-hi’s own.

Still, dreams were a subject she’d rather avoid. “Certainly,” said Yong-hi smoothly. “It’s normal to dream of something that’s constantly on your mind.”

“The midwife did tell me to expect more vivid dreams,” Seihwa admitted, wringing her hands nervously. “But this … this isn’t that. This is—I’m _there,_ I’m watching, though he’s shrouded in darkness, and—somehow I’m not able to protect him—” Her eyes were wide; Seihwa was truly terrified.

“Shh, shh.” Yong-hi embraced her sister-in-law, pulling Seihwa’s petite form—made only slightly less elegant by her pregnancy—close to her own tall, lanky self. She closed her eyes, and as she did so the vision hit her. A red dragon wreathed in flame—no, a god in human form—no, a—

_At last, our brother returns to us._

Yong-hi drew back in shock, raising a hand to a nearby tree to steady herself. She couldn’t let Seihwa see her collapse here, not now. This was—so many things suddenly became so clear.

“Sister? What’s wrong?”

To think that gentle Il and young, innocent Seihwa would be the ones to bring forth—but why not? The gods could not order or control the births of human beings, that was something she had always been taught was beyond their reach, and Yong-hi rather thought that the existence of her own son proved it. They could know, but they couldn’t _change_ … and they must have known for years.

“Nothing’s wrong,” said Yong-hi, trying to smile. The gods rarely sent true dreams to those they had not chosen from birth to hear their words, but at times of great importance—or what _they_ deemed great importance—but the truth of the dream was irrelevant. Yong-hi couldn’t leave Seihwa afraid like this. She had vowed never again to pass on words of prophecy, but right now … carrying a child could be frightening enough; surely it would be all right, this once? “The gods care greatly for your son,” she said. “He will never be without a protector.”

“… oh?” But Seihwa smiled, clearly relieved at Yong-hi’s words.

“… it is a son, then? That is what your dreams tell you?” Yong-hi asked. Let Seihwa focus on that, that was safer. More pleasant.

Seihwa nodded, smiling. “Il will be happy,” she said. “He would be happy regardless, but—”

“Best not to tell him,” Yong-hi advised. “My dreams—” The ones she’d been almost positive were her own, and thus not tried to push away “—told me to expect a daughter.” And they must have been her own dreams, because how else could they have been wrong?

“Oh, but Su-won is such a pretty little boy, it must have been an easy mistake to make …” The conversation shifted to more mundane topics, and Seihwa seemed to forget her fear of just moments ago. _Good. Good. Let her believe this was unimportant._

* * *

Three months later, Lady Seihwa gave birth to a daughter, and Yong-hi was puzzled. Had Seihwa’s dream been false after all? Or had her desire for a son confused matters? Either way, the child was definitely Hiryuu. Yong-hi told no one, but wondered that the entire palace couldn’t see it. Being around the girl was almost impossible for Yong-hi. In the seven years since her marriage to Prince Yu-hon, she had adapted to the gods’ heightened presence in her mind, but this was—it was another level entirely. If she had her way, she would avoid the child completely … and yet she could not abandon Seihwa. The woman’s ladies-in-waiting were even younger than she was herself, unmarried, and knew nothing of raising children. Many of the palace servants _did_ know children, but it was a friend, as much as a nurse, that Seihwa needed now. So it was that Yong-hi found herself rocking young Hiryuu to sleep while Seihwa and Il enjoyed a rare, peaceful night together. Su-won had come to Seihwa’s chambers with her—moments ago he’d been full of energy, asking endless questions about the baby, but he’d quickly tired and was now curled up on the floor, sound asleep. She’d have to wake him to take him back to his own bed … but not until Hiryuu— _no, Yona_ —was asleep herself.

Yong-hi sighed and closed her eyes. She had not set out to defy the gods, not initially, not really. All she’d wanted was to ignore them. Then— _I left the temple. Took it down with me for the sake of the kingdom._ And now, she was rocking a god to sleep. But … if she truly could shut the gods out of her mind, she’d be doing the same. Sitting here with a god in her arms, unknowing …

“You?”

Her eyes flashed open. There, standing before her, was a familiar face—one she’d never thought to see again. The former temple acolyte, the one who’d promised to care for the others despite being such a newcomer himself … but no. For some reason, the gods had kept it from her before, but that was far from all that Zeno was. “… Ouryuu?” He didn’t look a day older than he had seven years ago, and her eyes widened as the gods told her why that was. And then—the meaning behind the single word he’s spoken finally registered. “My niece,” Yong-hi said. “She’s my niece.”

Ouryuu nodded. Perhaps he was relieved; Yong-hi couldn’t tell. “So the lady knows who Zeno is, now.”

Warily, Yong-hi nodded. He’d been surprised to see her—he hadn’t come for her. “You came for Hiryuu,” she said.

“Zeno just … Zeno wanted to see him. Her.”

“She—she has good, kind, parents! She doesn’t need you!”

To her surprise, Ouryuu only nodded, smiling. “Good, good! Zeno’s glad.” A pause. “I missed him.” And that was not the self-assured voice of a god. That was … very human.

Yong-hi remembered how good Zeno had been with the young children in the temple. “… would you like to hold her?”

“No, no, that’s—” His voice shook, and his eyes betrayed his words. “Zeno doesn’t need to—” He finally nodded, though, and tentatively approached Yong-hi, gently taking the baby from her outstretched arms.

“Her name is Yona.”

Ouryuu nodded but didn’t speak, focusing only on the child he was holding. He’d held babies before, Yong-hi could tell, yet he seemed so hesitant, so wary … “She isn’t him,” he said, finally. “She’s someone new!” There was wonder, joy, in his voice, and a smile on his face.

“… will she remember?” Remember being a king, remember being a god—Yong-hi didn’t know which possibility worried her the most.

“Hmm, hard to say,” Ouryuu admitted as he handed Yona back to Yong-hi. “Best if she doesn’t. Best if she has her own life—that’s what he would have wanted.”

Yona herself had remained calm throughout all of this, though she wasn’t asleep, and even as Yong-hi took her back in her arms, her gaze followed Ouryuu. She reached out a tiny hand towards him. “It seems like she knows _you,_ ” said Yong-hi. “She’s much fussier with strangers.”

“—is that so?”

Yong-hi nodded. “…her own life,” she repeated. “That’s not what the gods want for her.”

“Eh, probably not! Hiryuu left them, but they wouldn’t leave him.” He gave a wry smile. “Zeno’s proof of that.”

“… did the gods send you to the temple, back then?” Yong-hi asked. Ouryuu hadn’t broached the subject, but she couldn’t imagine he was willing to just let it go.

“Nope! Zeno’s been around a while, that’s all, and history repeats itself. You decided to give the people of Kouka Kingdom a chance to choose their own fate, and Zeno—Zeno thinks that’s brave.” His gaze turned sharp. “If you’re worried Zeno’s mad, don’t be. The temple would’ve raised her like a god, and she shouldn’t—she’s human.” He closed his eyes, smiling as if he still couldn’t believe it. “She’s a really cute little girl! The heavens might be mad,” Ouryuu added. “But you already made your peace with that.”

Yong-hi nodded. At her feet, Su-won stirred, finally awoken by the noise of the conversation. He lifted his head, blinking, gazing around the room. “Su-won, dear, it’s bedtime.” But Su-won had spotted their visitor, and was now wide awake.

Ouryuu, in turn, was looking back at Su-won with a gaze almost as intent as he had given to Yona. “—this is?”

“My own son, Su-won,” said Yong-hi. “Su-won, you can say hi to our visitor, but then it’s bedtime.”

“… bedtime story? Dragon story?”

Yong-hi smiled, shaking her head softly. “He always asks for stories about the dragon warriors, lately,” she explained. That had started around the time of Yona’s birth, which would have worried her more— _please, let the voices of the heavens leave my son be_ —if the legend of Hiryuu and his four dragon warriors were not a popular tale already. He’d picked it up from a servant. He must have.

“Oh! Zeno knows lots!”

“You would—?” From the small things Ouryuu had said about Hiryuu, Yong-hi would have expected those memories to be too painful … and perhaps they were. But the story Ouryuu told was cheerful, silly, and could have been about any five humans. Yong-hi thought that was rather the point of it, and that Ouryuu was telling it to her as much as to her son.


	3. Chapter 3

“I’ll confess, I was never eager to be queen. But for your sake I would have done my best.” Yong-hi lay in bed next to her husband, their first night together in the week since King Ju-nam’s death. Yong-hi and Su-won had remained in the capital during that time, while Yu-hon had returned to the Kin province to put things in order before his younger brother’s coronation.

“I’ve always thought myself better able to serve this nation on the battlefield than from an office. You know that.”

“Yes, but your brother—”

“—will be a good king. You don’t know Il like I do—he’s not as timid as you think. Just wait. I’ll lead our armies to victory, and he’ll care for the five tribes, and Kouka will flourish like never before.”

But the gods still warned of storms, of darkness. Even now, with Hiryuu where they wanted her—or as close as a girl could be in this kingdom—

“This is for the best, no matter whose idea it was,” Yu-hon said, as if he could read her mind. He raised himself up on an elbow, gazing down into Yong-hi’s eyes. “You mustn’t blame yourself. Please. There is nothing to—”

“… what?” Yong-hi sat up, blinking at Yu-hon in confusion. No one knew what had prompted the late King Ju-nam to name his second son as heir. Of course there could be no blame, unless—she felt her face turn pale as she realized. “Yu-hon. Did I—?”

Yu-hon looked away, stricken. “You didn’t know.”

“I—no. _No!_ ” How could this have happened? It had been months since she’d spoken for the gods, years since she had done it without knowing. But she’d been tired, exhausted from their hurried journey south—and Yona was in the room. It wasn’t the girl’s fault, but her presence alone was overwhelming, and the gods were never quiet when Yong-hi was near her. Yong-hi couldn’t remember any of their words, they were so jumbled together … no wonder they had managed to push through.

Her husband placed an arm around her shoulder—she always marveled, even now, that such a strong man could be so gentle. He truly didn’t blame her, she knew that, but that didn’t mean he had no regrets. “Yong-hi. I know that for you this is a matter of principle. But had the possibility even occurred to me, I would have suggested it to Father myself.”

It wouldn’t have occurred to him. That was the point. That was why— “What did I say? The words—did they say _why—_?” She broke off. “No, I’m sorry. Your father was dying, I—I can’t expect you to remember every detail.” The fact that he didn’t told her enough. She had not, at least, proclaimed Hiryuu’s rebirth. A small comfort. The gods might have Hiryuu where they wanted her, but Yong-hi was the only one who knew. And the words of Ouryuu’s chosen, all those years ago, gave her hope. Hiryuu _left_ the heavens. Hiryuu, too, had chosen humanity. And this time around, she wouldn’t even know. She could make her own way in the world as freely as any other human. Maybe—maybe Yong-hi really hadn’t done any harm.

“Strange that His Majesty would listen.” After all, he’d once supported the destruction of the temple.

Yu-hon sighed. “I imagine when the gods speak directly to a man on his deathbed, he’s inclined to obey.”

“You wouldn’t,” Yong-hi spoke fiercely. Yu-hon smiled at that, and shrugged, as if to ask, _who can say?_ “I just … I wish I had known sooner.” But Yu-hon had returned to the Kin Province immediately after his father’s passing, to take care of urgent matters there, and they’d barely had any chance to talk at all. The others who had been there—she thought back to her interactions with Seihwa since that day. The hesitation, the slight hints of awkwardness between them that Yong-hi had ascribed merely to their sudden change in stations—all that made more sense now. And Su-won had been there, too. “I should talk to Su-won.”

“He’s fine. He’s looking forward to going back north, and he already loves treating Yona like a princess.”

Yong-hi smiled. Of course he did—Su-won had always loved doting on Yona. “Maybe—maybe it really will be fine.”

* * *

She did talk to Su-won, though. He had been there when it happened, and had been with her all the following week, and hadn’t said a word. “I know what I told the king,” she said. “Father told me. You don’t have to pretend like it didn’t happen.”

“I—it _shouldn’t_ happen!”

“True. But there’s nothing either of us can do about it now.” Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. Su-won was still too young to understand why she couldn’t allow the gods to dictate her life, to dictate the future of the kingdom—but the simple fact that they _wanted_ to was frightening enough. A mother should be strong, should be there for her son, and the fact that he had to see her lose herself so completely—she hated it.

“I wish I _could_ talk to the gods,” Su-won muttered. “I’d make them leave you alone.”

“Oh? Would you fight them for me?”

“Well … maybe I’d get Hak to fight them for you. He could do it!”

Yong-hi smiled. The confidence Su-won had in his fellow eight-year-old’s strength was, frankly, adorable. He would miss Hak when they returned north, that was for certain. “The best way to help me fight them is to talk about it when things like this happen. Remember? You can’t win a battle if you don’t know it exists.”

Su-won nodded. He’d heard that lesson before. “That means you should tell me what they say to you, too,” he said.

Yong-hi sighed. He _was_ clever enough to turn that back on her. “You know that’s what they want,” she said. “The more things I can keep to myself, the less power they have.” She didn’t even tell her husband what the gods told her, not if she could avoid it … but Yu-hon was a grown man. He knew why she had to keep those things secret. Su-won was still young enough that not _knowing_ what frightened his mother only made things worse. Could there be a compromise? The gods were not always frightening, after all, but if he only ever saw what she couldn’t control …

“They want to tell people who will _listen,_ ” Su-won argued. “But I wouldn’t do something a god said. Not just because a god said it.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” Yong-hi acquiesced. “From now on, let’s both be more open with each other. Then neither of us has to be as scared.”

“I’m not _scared,_ ” Su-won said. “I just don’t like not knowing.” Yong-hi smiled. “This time it wasn’t a bad thing, though, right? Father says he’s happy … if it’s not a bad thing, isn’t it all right? As long as they don’t hurt you?”

“Some people would say that _everything_ the gods command is a good thing.”

Su-won frowned. “That’s true …”

“To me,” said Yong-hi, “it’s not about whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing. It’s about the fact that they want to tell us what to do at all. I’ve never seen the gods do this kingdom any real good, but I’ve seen _people_ do a lot, when they have a chance to make their own decisions. And when the gods tell us things, even if we say we won’t listen … well, now we know what they want. Understand?”

“Like tricking people into doing what they want …” He paused. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to know what they tell you, after all.” Yong-hi smiled again. “Still,” said Su-won, “Yona gets to be a princess … that _is_ a good thing!” And that was a perfect example of just why it was best he didn’t know. Yong-hi couldn’t predict how Su-won’s attitude towards Yona would change if he knew she was Hiryuu’s reincarnation, but it _would_ change, no doubt about it. “Are you … are you sad you can’t be queen?”

“No,” said Yong-hi, shaking her head. “No, I think Aunt Seihwa will make a much better queen than me.”

* * *

Queen Seihwa, however, was killed four days after Il’s coronation.

“We have to stay in the capital a little longer. There are already rumors. If you leave now, people will think—”

Yu-hon, who had been pacing their room in Hiryuu Castle, stopped in his tracks. “ _Now?_ You’re doing this now?” he exploded back at her. “My brother’s wife was murdered, and you’re—” He took a deep breath, calming himself. “Please. You don’t need to make this political. You shouldn’t have to—”

Yong-hi drew back, startled at Yu-hon’s sudden outburst. “No, that’s not—Seihwa was my friend. You know that.” More than a friend, Seihwa really had become like a sister to her. “Su-won asked me—he asked me if the gods had told me this would happen.” Now the tears came, the tears she’d been holding back along with the ever-incessant whispers from the heavens. “And they didn’t, but I had to ask myself—if they did, would I have listened? I swore I’d never heed their words, but—I would have, Yu-hon, I would have, all right?”

And Yu-hon hung his head, collapsing into a chair. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—you’re far closer to her than I am. Was.” He lifted his head, looked Yong-hi in the eyes. “The rumors,” he said, abruptly. “They’re true. Or they might as well be. I haven’t identified the killer yet, but I learned enough. It was someone who didn’t want to see my brother ascend. Someone who would claim to be my _ally._ ” He almost spat that last word, so full of disgust at the idea.

That was that, then. Yong-hi had known it from the moment she heard the news, known that if she were queen in Seihwa’s place she would not have suffered the same fate, and—Yu-hon would have been thorough in his investigation. If that was his conclusion as well … she tried to wipe the tears from her eyes, but it was no use, they wouldn’t stop coming. “I—Yu-hon, I put her there.”

His eyes widened—he hadn’t yet drawn the conclusion that was so obvious to Yong-hi’s heart. “No, _no,_ you did not. You did not kill your sister, and neither did I, and I _will_ find the one who did.” He moved to sit beside her on the bed, raising a rough hand to wipe the tears from her cheek. “Seihwa will have justice, I promise. I don’t care about the rumors. This is for her, for Il, and for you.”

“… how is Princess Yona doing?” Yong-hi asked, after a pause. She hadn’t let herself go near the girl since learning that she’d spoken for the gods—but that was putting blame where it didn’t belong. Yona was only five years old. Yong-hi had been taken from her mother at a similar age, and that had been bad enough—she hadn’t had her mother taken from her.

Yu-hon shook his head. “Su-won is doing his best to comfort her. Beyond that …”

“I should go to her.” Yong-hi began to stand up, well aware that now, so late in the evening, was hardly the time, but spurred on by the sudden thought that she owed the princess at least this much. Her husband took her hand, though, pulling her back.

“Another time, maybe,” he said. “Though—Su-won has told me she finds you intimidating.” He managed a slight smile at that—Yu-hon enjoyed the idea of having an intimidating wife, after all—but Yong-hi couldn’t reciprocate. She hadn’t realized—but if course she knew why. She could never let her guard down around Yona. She could never offer the sort of comfort that the girl needed. The gods were too—

— _no, stop!_ —

“Hiryuu required no mother before; she has no need of one now.” She spoke the words calmly and clearly, betraying none of the panic she felt as she tried, _tried_ to force her mouth shut, to raise a hand to cover her speech, anything. “She will suffer far more than this, lose far more than this, and it will all … be …” The words trailed off, finally shut away, but they were still there echoing in her head. _Your fault. It will all be your fault._

Yong-hi didn’t remember collapsing, falling from the side of the bed. Yu-hon had been right there, why hadn’t he—? She pushed herself up off the floor, not yet able to force herself upright, but sitting, at least, knees drawn to her chest. _My fault_. She looked up at Yu-hon through strands of displaced hair. This was when he’d reach out a hand to her, lift her up, comfort her. But—no. He just sat there. Watching. “Hiryuu,” he said.

Eyes widening in panic, Yong-hi stood up on her own. “Forget that,” she said. “Please, forget I said that!” Yu-hon narrowed his eyes. “She doesn’t know, she never has to know—she’s only a little girl!”

“Of course,” said Yu-hon, but the wary expression never left his face.

* * *

The news rang false when she heard it. A hunting accident. Yu-hon could not, _would_ not, die in a hunting accident. And yet— _he’s gone. He’s really gone._ The man who had admired her—who had come to love her—for her own strength, not what the gods poured through her, who had kept her steady all these years, was gone. “Bring my son to me,” she ordered the young man who had brought her the news, one of Il’s royal pages. “He’s studying with the royal historian. I—I should tell him myself.”

“Yes, Lady Yong-hi.”

He must think her so cold-hearted, she thought. This was—no gods were speaking to her now, but the instinct was still there. To shut herself away, to close herself off, to push the terrible revelation out of her mind. But this—this wasn’t—even now that she was alone, tears didn’t come, but she found she couldn’t keep to her feet, suddenly collapsing against the wall, falling down to sit on the floor, drawing in deep, desperate breaths. Yu-hon couldn’t be _dead_. The messenger had believed it, but he could have been mistaken … he had to be …

Su-won entered alone, eyes widening as he saw her on the floor. “Mother! What happened?”

“Su-won, there’s something I have to tell you.” She lifted herself back to her feet. She needed to be strong for her son. “Su-won, your father—”

—she wasn’t standing, she was collapsed on the floor again, far less elegantly this time, and Su-won was staring down at her, wide-eyed, trembling. “Is—is that true? You said—whatever else they might do, they don’t lie, so—”

 _Not now, not_ now! Su-won wasn’t frightened. He was horrified, angry, and— _what did they say?_ But— “They don’t, but Su-won, whatever they said, it can wait. There’s—something happened. Su-won—”

“ _Why?_ ” There were no tears in her son’s eyes, either. Just sudden, cold rage, frightening to see in a boy so young. “Why would Uncle Il kill Father?”

It was as if her heart fell out of her chest. _No. No!_ That was—but she knew why. She knew the answer to Su-won’s question all too well. It had been over a year since Seihwa had died. Since Yu-hon had learned the truth about Yona. And he’d refused to let it go. _“How can you accept this?”_ he’d asked her. _“You, who have always defied the gods—how can you be content, to see one of their own so near the throne? Isn’t this what you fought against from the start?”_ He’d refused to accept that the girl didn’t know. If Yong-hi had thought that there was any chance he’d actually _harm_ Yona, she might have tried harder to change his mind, but she refused to believe he would ever go that far. And she’d convinced him, too, that telling his brother would only make matters worse.

Or so she thought. If Yu-hon had confronted Il about Yona, if Il even for a moment believed that Yu-hon posed any threat—and especially now, when Yona had nearly been kidnapped only the week before … he was very protective of his daughter.

Yong-hi could tell all this to Su-won. She could answer his question. And to do so, she’d have to do as the gods wished, and tell him the truth about Yona.

_Is this a test? Is it a punishment after all?_

She still refused to believe that her husband would have ever hurt Yona. But she could understand Il’s reasons. Perhaps, one day, she’d even be able to forgive him. If Su-won knew the truth, then perhaps he, too …

But if Yu-hon _hadn’t_ known, this would never have happened at all.

 _I made a choice, years ago. I said that the gods should have no say in the running of this world._ And she’d tried to stop them, and she’d failed. And if it was only a matter of personal pride—if going back on her oath would fix anything, if she truly believed it would make things better—she would give up, and happily. She would trade her pride for Su-won and Yona’s future.

But she didn’t know. And she didn’t have it in her to believe such a thing. The gods had caused more suffering than they had relieved, that was a fact, and telling Su-won the truth about Yona now—he loved the princess dearly, but who could say where that might lead?

No. Whatever short-term comfort it might bring, she could not let the gods have their say. She still truly believed that.

“I don’t know,” she said, reaching up and pulling Su-won close to her. “I don’t know.”

And the voices of heaven echoed in her head once again. _“It will all be your fault.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm [fallenwithstyle](http://fallenwithstyle.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you'd like to come say hi!


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